


Gluttony

by stratosphericstrays



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale: 'You know these days when you're like this might as well happen', Belly Kink, M/M, Pining, Stuffing, also probably inaccurate both historically and canon-wise, because i'm not about to do extensive research for a 2k kink fic i wrote on my phone, binge eating, or any research, this is so self indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-14
Packaged: 2020-05-12 00:09:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stratosphericstrays/pseuds/stratosphericstrays
Summary: Aziraphale finds Crowley stuffing himself in a diner





	Gluttony

**Author's Note:**

> gdjsadh shutout to good omens for making me feel things again  
> i haven't really created any kind of fandom content in ages (thanks to adultingTM) and now the first thing i finally upload is a fucking kink fic lmao. this took like 7 tries and i'm still not satisfied but uploading for me and the like other 4 people who enjoy good omens and stuffing. anyone who is not into this shit feel free to turn around now!  
> also im sry abt the huge block of txt ao3 didnt convrt it the way i thought it would and i can't be fucked to edit it atm

Of all places on earth Crowley could have been, Aziraphale wouldn’t have expected to find him here. He hadn’t seen the demon in almost a year, and now he had stumbled upon him in an american diner. A red lit neon sign and small booths to complete the aesthetic that was so popular over the pond. Aziraphale had walked past the small restaurant by chance and seen Crowley in the window, eating by himself. He wasn’t going to admit to actually missing the demon, but, he reasoned with himself, eating was always much nicer in company.  
The smell of grease assaulted him the second he opened the door to the shop. Drowley was sitting in the booth furthest from the door, the neon lamp above his head had conveniently given out and he was cast in the dim red glow of the neon signs decorating the walls and the street lamps.  
What was truly surprising, however, was what Aziraphale found on the table.  
When it came to all the pleasures earth had to offer, Crowley had never been that interested in their food. Sure, he would not decline a good steak or a dinner at the Ritz, especially in company of a certain angel, but it had always been Aziraphale, who really had a weakness for humanity’s culinary wonders. It seemed this might have changed in the time they hadn’t seen each other. On the plastic table, Aziraphale counted no less than eight empty dishes and two empty glasses of milkshakes, with Crowley currently working on a stack of pancakes, dripping in syrup, and a basket of fried chicken with chips and a plate of ribs as well as a huge cheeseburger with even more chips still waiting for him.  
Crowley was so focused on his meal, he barely noticed Aziraphale until he was right in front of his table.  
“Oh, hello, angel”, he greeted him non-chalantly, looking up for just a second before shoveling more pancakes in his mouth. To say that Aziraphale was confused would be the understatement of the century. This was so unlike Crowley – stuffing himself to the brim with fast food of all things. But maybe, even after 6000 years, he didn’t know the demon as well as Aziraphale would like. He had not predicted Crowley going to sleep for an entire century. He had not thought Crowley would save him and his books in the church.  
Yes, the demon still surprised him from time to time. And who was Aziraphale to say what Crowley needed or wanted.  
“You’re free to join”, Crowley said, barely understandable around a mouthful of pancakes.  
Aziraphale, too mesmerized to leave, hesitantly sank into the seat opposite Crowley.  
“So”, he said, voice sounding nothing like his own, trying not to pay too much attention the syrup currently running down Crowley’s chin. “How are you, my friend?”  
Crowley gulped down half a pancake at once, and gave Aziraphale a weird look.  
“Fantastic”, he slowly said, only sounding mildly irretated “Fan-fucking-tastic” Then he returned to his enormous meal.  
“And – and what exactly … is this?”, Aziraphale asked then, still kind of frozen in shock. He was starting to wonder, if this was part of some hellish plan, and if he would have to do something to stop Crowley, or do some Good to outweigh the Bad. But surely there were simpler ways to deprive the diner of supplies, or whatever it was Crowley wanted.  
Crowley shrugged, pushing the now empty plate away and pulling the fried chicken closer to himself. Aziraphale noticed he had some difficulty leaning over the table to reach the next dish and when he looked down, he believed to see Crowley’s stomach, pushing against the table. His suit had let itself out, perhaps without Crowley noticing, to contain the growing mass of his stomach, but it was still very tight, buttons straining. Aziraphale’s mouth was oddly dry all of the sudden. He swallowed. These … physical reactions he kept having to seeing Crowley in this state were confusing, to put it mildly. Unfortunate.  
“I was bored”, Crowley explained between two mouthfuls, waving a piece of chicken around for emphasis. A few drops of hot sauce landed on the table “The world wars are over, you know. Economical boom”  
WWII had been over for almost two decades now. But Aziraphale didn’t really agree with Crowley that things were going too smoothly. The 60s weren’t Good by any means and certainly not boring. Surely Crowley could find something to apply himself, if he wanted to. No, what was truly pushing Aziraphale’s buttons here, was that Crowley wanted this. He could be eating all this and not let it fill his stomach, he could make the food disappear or spoil. No, Crowley had come here, with the full intention to eat himself into oblivion. And Aziraphale was pleased that, after so many years on earth, Crowley had finally given in to this particular vice. He had always thought the demon was missing out.  
He still wasn’t sure if he should be worried about Crowley’s odd behavior, but he didn’t sense any real evil and as far as Crowley’s awful coping mechanisms went, this wasn’t so bad. Aziraphale himself was not a stranger to overindulgence. There was nothing inherently evil about eating plenty when there was plenty to eat, at least that was how he always reasoned with himself, when he had one slice of cake too many.  
So, Aziraphale decided not to do anything for the time being and simply enjoy the others presence, as it had been quite a while since he had seen his associate, oddly manic as he may be right now.  
“What are you doing here, anyway?”, Crowley suddenly asked, like he had just realized who was in front of him. One of his hands had wandered below the table and Aziraphale really shouldn’t care about what the demon was doing, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was unbuttoning his pants.  
Aziraphale shrugged. He had simply had a feeling, a sense of restlessness that wouldn’t leave him all day, and when he had finally closed the bookstore and went for a walk, he had ended up here. At first, he had thought there would be a good deed to be done, all part of the divine plan, but surely Heaven wouldn’t send him here? To be with - Crowley?  
To avoid answering (or thinking too hard about it), Aziraphale stuffed a handful of chips in his mouth.  
They fell into a comfortable silence as they ate, something that had become easy after so many millenia. Crowley was eating three times as fast as Aziraphale, barely taking time to chew. But the angel was using the opportunity to indulge. The pair devoured dish after dish that a glassy-eyed waitress kept bringing over. Burger and cheesecake, milkshakes and nachos with cheese. Aziraphale wasn’t a big fan of american cusine, at least not if you compared it to the many other cusine’s he had come across in his long life. But chips had that effect that made it hard to stop eating them, and where of course bland without huge amounts of ketchup or mayonaise, the diner served some delicious pancakes, of which he had three servings and the milkshakes really hit his sweet tooth. 

It was getting dark outside and Aziraphale was getting uncomfortably full. Even Crowley, Heaven knows what had possessed him to do this in the first place, seemed to be slowing down. Finally, with a groan, he pushed away the plate he had just cleared and burped.  
“Think ’m done”, he muttered, followed by another, smaller burp.  
“Glad to hear that”, Aziraphale sounded just a bit irritated. But maybe that was simply the tightness of his own stomach, dampening his mood. He had undone his vest quite a few dishes ago, and now gingerly slid a hand over the side of his swollen belly to ease some of the pressure. A few more minutes passed in silence until Aziraphale asked “Are we leaving, then?”  
Crowley smirked “Oh, I’m not going anywhere”  
He leaned back and patted his over-stuffed middle, head lolling to the side, still grinning. Whatever it was the demon had wanted, he seemed to have gotten it.  
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow “And what exactly are you planning on doing then? You can’t possibly stay here”  
Crowley just shrugged, sinking lower in his seat, which made his stomach even more prominent, poking over the edge of the table like a mountain. His yellow eyes were half closed, sunglasses discarded on the table somewhere between the empty dishes. A few more minutes and he would fall asleep, true to his serpent nature, to digest. And waking him would be a challenge to say the least. Aziraphale sighed. He couldn’t have Crowley sleeping it off in these poor people’s establishment for the next week. That was not Good.  
With some effort, Aziraphale squeezed out of the booth and waddled to Crowley’s side. “Come on, my boy”, he said gently. Trying to lean down as little as possible to avoid more pressure on his own, as he noticed now that he stood, terribly full stomach, he reached for Crowley “Let’s go home”  
Crowley grunted softly. His eyes lazily trailed over to the angel, but he made no effort to move, not even as Aziraphale tugged on his jacket.  
“Come on”, Aziraphale repeated, just a bit whiny. He really wanted to lie down right now, nurse his bloated stomach, maybe read a bit or maybe just focus on how fucking, heavenly, full he felt. (Clearly this was not part of a heavenly plot, or it wouldn’t be so much fun)  
Slowly, Crowley slid out of the booth, bloated, almost comically round belly brushing the edge of the table. It gurgled unhappily at the movement and Aziraphale saw that Crowley had in fact undone the lower buttons of his shirt, a pale stripe of his lower belly visible there, where his undershirt had ridden up. With a pained groan, Crowley let Aziraphale pull him to his feet, immediately leaning on the angel for further support, interveining their arms. He kept his other hand pressed against his round belly, that kept rumbling. Aziraphale struggled to hold their balance, Crowley hanging onto him like a dead-weight. A very heavy one. Crowley had really, really stretched his limits today. Aziraphale for one hadn’t been aware even their overhuman bodies could hold so much food.  
Crowley’s Bentley was parked outside the diner, but the pair barely had to make three, heavy steps before they were in Aziraphale’s living room.  
“Here we go”, Aziraphale hummed, easing Crowley down on the sofa as gently as possible. The demon groaned, clutching his volleyball-sized belly. “You okay?”, Aziraphale asked, collapsing on the sofa next to Crowley. His belly, much softer than Crowley’s due to more continuous indulgence, jiggled.  
“Unf”, was the only reply he got out the demon.  
Crowley undid the last few buttons of his black shirt. He was bloated and … `beautiful`, Aziraphale thought. He was beautiful. This looked good on him. His cheeks were flushed red and his expression was so content and relaxed. Satisfied.  
Crowley’s eyes slid shut. His belly gurgled loudly and he pressed a hand against it, like he was willing it to stop.  
“’m not eating for the next decade”, he muttered.  
Aziraphale barely restrained himself from saying ‘I hope not’.


End file.
